


Without A Doubt

by iiscos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M, and Mpreg, but not really, mostly ricky trying to comprehend mpreg, oh dear god this is crack, poor soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iiscos/pseuds/iiscos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mesut is pregnant with Cristiano's child, and everyone reacts insanely. Crack. Not to be taken seriously at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without A Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoned because I actually liked this one. Might de-anon more if I'm not too ashamed. 
> 
> Prompt can be found [here](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/9132.html?thread=2870444#t2870444)
> 
> So not exactly mpreg, but more like right in the beginning of/a week into mpreg, because the concept is still really, really, really weird for me. Which is why this is entirely crack. I feel the need to apologize before hand.

“Fuck, I hate you Cris!” Mesut barges out of the bathroom, angry tears streaking his cheeks. “I told you to use protection!”

“What happened?” Cris swallows audibly as the German plants himself face first into his chest, seemingly undecided on whether he wants to hug the Portuguese striker or to punch him in the face. “Does this mean—Are you—”

“I’m pregnant!” Mesut wails. “This is all your fault!”

Cris feels his heart race and stomach clench at the same time. “Y-You sure? Did you do the test right?” 

“Yes, I’m sure! How many different ways can you pee on a stick?” Mesut blows his nose into Cris’s shirt. “What am I going to do? My life is ruined!”

“I don’t believe this,” Cris breathes, grabbing onto Mesut’s shoulders and pulling him away to arm’s length distance. He takes a good look at the German midfielder, stares straight into those giant, dark, tear-filled eyes, before screaming at the top of his lungs. “WE’RE HAVING A BABY! OH MY GOD, I’M SO FUCKING HAPPY!”

He pulls Mesut into a bone-crushing hug before starting to sob as well.

“…What?”

~~

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Ricky cries out in disbelief as he frantically flips through the pages of a Biology textbook (which he had immediately borrowed from the library upon receiving the text from Cris). “Mesut can’t be _pregnant_ …He’s not a girl! He doesn’t have ovaries, or a uterus, or any of the necessary equipment for child-bearing—”

“Maybe you just need to be more open-minded.” Marcelo leans over Ricky’s shoulder, dripping V8 onto the pages. “Equality of the sexes, man. If women can be firefighters and presidents, men should be able to get pregnant too, if they want.”

“No, Marcelo.” Ricky shakes his head and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“It’s a miracle, that’s what it is. An absolute miracle,” Cris sighs happily as he cuddles closer to Mesut on the couch, kissing his forehead and rubbing his tummy. “We’re going to have a beautiful baby.”

Mesut glances at his right to see Fábio Coentrão curled up all the way on the other end of the same couch, looking twitchy and very, very, _very_ upset. Pepe is in the kitchen making meatloaf. 

“Where are _my_ friends?” Mesut whines, upon realizing he’s the only non-Portuguese-speaking person in the room. “How come none of them are here? Where’s Sami, and Karim, and—”

Just then, The Ramos barges through the front door as if it weren't even locked, but it was. “Dude! I heard you’re having a fucking baby!”

“Fuck yeah, I am!” Cris jumps up from the couch, nearly throwing Mesut off and onto the floor. 

“I’M GONNA BE THE BEST FUCKING UNCLE EVER!”

“FUCK YEAH, YOU ARE!”

Sergio runs to Cris to give him a high-five, which Cris misinterprets as a fist-bump, so they end up generating a turkey-like shape with their combined hands.

“Can we please not say fuck all the time when the baby’s right here?” Mesut points angrily at his stomach.

“But you just said it too.” Sergio blinks.

“Oh _fuck_!”

~~

Sami Khedira calls Cris up for coffee the next day, which Cris finds strange because Sami never calls him up for anything, unless it’s to tell him to stay the hell away from Mesut. But he goes anyway because Mesut says they should settle whatever issues they have, since Sami is going to play as big of a part in their baby’s life as Marcelo, or Sergio, or Ricky.

So Cris meets Sami in a café, and they sit together sipping decaf for at least 20 minutes before the German finally speaks. “Mesut is like a younger brother to me.”

“Yes, I know.” Cris fumbles with the little packets of Splenda, already cringing at the imminent big brother talk he will have to endure.

“There was a time when I thought I could protect him forever—” Sami swallows thickly, staring with sad nostalgia into the space above Cris’s left shoulder. And Cris swears he sees a single manly tear rolling down the German’s cheek.

Well now, this isn’t awkward at all.

“He’s at that age, you know?” Sami breathes a shaky breath. “When he thinks he knows everything, and he just—doesn’t listen anymore—”

He buries his face in his hands, as a low rumble escapes from the back of his throat, a despairing noise very similar to that of a dying walrus.

Cristiano finds this even more terrifying than the time his dog had defecated in Mourinho’s shoes.

“How can anyone be ready for this? What are the odds that your—your little brother—get’s _pregnant_!?”

Cris looks around uneasily because people are staring. 

“He’s so young and naïve, he’s practically a kid himself!” Sami blows into a napkin, “He’s not ready to be a _parent_! What is he going to do?”

“He’s not alone, you know.” Cris finally musters enough mental strength to speak. “He has me. I will be a great father to our child. And I will love them, and take good care of both of them.”

“Fuck, you better!” Sami flies out of his seat and lunges forward to grab Cris by the collar of his shirt. The table tilts, water spills, glass shatters, and Cris thinks if Sami actually does have some latent psychosis waiting to be triggered, this might as well be the trigger. “Swear on your life, you lecherous bastard! Or I will hunt you down and kick your ass!”

“O-Okay, I swear!”

~~

“Cristiano Ronaldo…Junior.”

“No.”

“Cristiano Ron—”

“No!”

“Cris—”

“No, Cris! You already have a kid named after you!”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know any other names!”

~~

The phenomenon of male pregnancy has been nagging at Ricky for so long that he decided to devote all of his non-football playing time to solving the mystery growing within Mesut. He summons everyone to his basement one night after he has formulated two solid hypotheses.

“Okay, thanks for coming,” Ricky fumbles with the cap of his felt-tip marker. He had asked Cris and Mesut to stand on either side of his white board during his demonstration. “So this is what I’ve come up with so far—“

“Jesus Christ, Ricky.” Pipita chides from the audience. “When was the last time you slept, or _shaved_? You can practically light a match with your face.”

“Silence, fool!” Ricky roars thunderously. “This may be beyond what your puny brain can handle, but I will take pity nonetheless, so you may have a taste of what true brilliance can achieve!”

“Okay, sheesh,” Pipita puts both hands up, “No need to get all worked-up.”

“There are only two plausible scenarios.” Ricky promptly begins to draw on the white board a stick figure with neatly gelled hair and a six-pack. He circles where the sex parts would be for emphasis. “It is possible that Cris have magic sperm capable of impregnating males.”

There is a chorus of cat-calls from the audience, and Cris winks and flashes a charming smile.

“ _Or_ …” Ricky raises his voice to get everyone back on track, before drawing another stick figure with giant Os for eyes, circling the groin region as well. “Mesut somehow developed reproductive machinery functionally similar to those of females, allowing him to be _impregnated_ by males.”

Another wave of cheers rolls in, and Mesut flushes before yelling back angrily, “Shut up, guys! That’s not a good thing!”

“And there is only one way to verify which hypothesis is correct,” Ricky continues, “One of you will have to have sex with Cris to see if the same result can be repeated but with a different—”

“I VOLUNTEER!” Fábio lunges from the back of the room.

“Uh, thank you, Fábio, for your enthusiasm.” Ricky nods in approval as Karim and Ángel forcibly restrain the Portuguese left back. “I will take note of your offer for when I conduct my future studies. And with regards to the second hypothesis, someone will also have to mate with Mesut to see if reproduction is achievable in this scenario.”

“I’ll do it!” Sergio raises both hands. A few teammates applaud him.

“Dude, not cool.” Cris frowns in disapproval.

“Aww come on, bro, it’s sex for science!” Sergio gives a thumbs up, and Ricky gives a thumbs up back.

Cris crosses his arms, still unconvinced. “Hey, it’s one thing to sleep with Mesut, but if you’re going to knock him up too—I’m not cool with that.”

“Guys, I’m standing right here!” Mesut stomps his foot in clear outrage.

“May I offer a suggestion?” Luka raises a tentative hand amidst all the bickering.

“Yes!” Ricky points to the new Croatian boy with his marker.

“I don’t think your results will be credible unless you have a much larger sample size,” Luka says frankly, but respectfully, “And besides, you won’t be able to conduct any experiments with Mesut until he is no longer pregnant, at the end of nine months.”

Ricky howls in frustration upon realizing the setbacks in his plans. “God damnit! I wish you guys were rats!” He then storms off and leaves everyone in his basement still seated and feeling quite perplexed. 

Cris exchanges confused looks with Mesut, before maneuvering past the white board so he can hold the German’s hand. “Well, thanks for coming, everyone,” Cris smiles and waves to the audience, “And thanks for the support. Mesut and I are very happy about the way things have turned out. And besides—this is one thing Messi can never do, right? Haha.”

“Actually.” Luka’s voice floats above the crowd again. “I think he knocked up David Villa last month.” 

“SON OF A BITCH!”

~~

“Would you still love me when I’m vomiting every morning?”

“Yes.”

“Would you still love me when I’m moody, and bitchy, and want pistachio ice-cream at 4AM?”

“Of course.”

“Would you still love me when I’m fat?”

“Definitely.”

“Would you still love me when I’m so fat, you’ll have to move me from the house with a crane?”

“For sure.”

“Would you marry me before this all happens?”

Cristiano laughs before leaning in and kissing Mesut on his pouty lips. “Without a doubt.”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please drop a comment :'D


End file.
